The Trick To Life
by LaughterNeverDies
Summary: Little chapters based around the brilliant album 'The Trick To Life' by The Hoosiers, featuring most of the main characters during The Reichenbach Fall. Enjoy, and please review and tell me what you think! x
1. Chapter 1

**Worried About Ray**

Molly stared at the man she had loved for her entire career at St Bart's with a sad smile on her face. His long, pale hands fiddled with the dials and knobs on the microscope, and she observed the furrow of his brow and that familiar wrinkle between his darting silver eyes.

_**Truth be told, the truth be told **_

_**I'm worried about the future holds, the future holds**_

_**I'm starting to worry about Ray**_

Sherlock sighed and pretended to be focused on his work, gazing blankly at the instruments and chemistry equipment around him while maintaining the facade of actually caring about it. He raised his head slowly and stole a cautious look at his friend. John stood with his back to Sherlock, flicking through the papers and notes with perceptible irritation. The detective returned his gaze to the microscope and closed his tired eyes, allowing the mask of concentration to slip momentarily as he thought about the inevitable end to his life as he knew it. There was a way he could survive this, long enough to grow old with John, enough of a life to live to finally be ready to let go, there just had to be. He hadn't felt this close to someone since...well, he'd never felt this close to someone in his life.

_**I'm seriously worried about Ray**_

Molly swallowed, summoning the courage to confront the imposing man seated before her. She ploughed ahead, even when he shot her down like so many times before. She knew she was helping him, Sherlock needed to hear this, and she needed to get this out. It didn't matter that he was resisting her; all that mattered was that if she could help him, she would. Molly knew it was stupid, but she would die for this man, die for a man who could identify when two people halfway across a room were having an affair and who ate a particular biscuit with their tea, but didn't even notice when she entered a room. Didn't notice, or didn't care. She was used to this, feeling like she didn't matter. Molly had been dealing with this her whole life. Socially awkward, short, meek, quiet, everything she was distanced her from others. Jim had been the only good thing that had happened to her in a long time. He had actually made her feel good about herself, like she was needed for once, wanted even. And then he had to go and turn out not only to be gay but also to be a criminal mastermind who was never even remotely interested in her.

"...except when he thought no one could see..." She continued, glancing up at him. Sherlock flinched, dropping his eyes momentarily in realization.

_**Truth be told, the truth be told**_

_**I'm treading on my tippy toes, my tippy toes**_

"Molly" Sherlock warned, he didn't want to hear what she had to say. Who could blame him? Nobody wants to hear the truth when it hurts _so_ much.

_**I'm painfully so worried about Ray**_

"You're sad, when you think he can't see you" She said. The words were flowing now, coming strong and true, the way she intended them, Sherlock was relenting.

_**They say the future's out to get you**_

_**You know that I won't let you fall**_

Sherlock was looking at her in a different way, his eyes searching and honest, something raw and exposed about him, his eyes, so scared and hopeful; she had never seen this in him before. "I don't count" She murmured, knowing it was true. She would never matter to Sherlock but John, John did. Sherlock wanted to protect him, and Molly could help.

_**They say the future's out to get you**_

_**You know that I won't let you fall**_

Sherlock looked at her in shock, as if all those times he had made her feel like she wasn't worth his time, like she didn't mean anything to him, hadn't imprinted on her memory and contributed to her insecurity. She babbled on incoherently, the gravity of that gaze had thrown her. Sherlock was looking increasingly confused and disorientated by her weak offer of help. He said things that she knew should hurt, not that he meant them to, but after dealing with so much of his crap over the years she had developed a thicker skin against the unintentional insults. "If you need anything, anything at all" He wasn't speaking, he wasn't even thanking her for what she was saying. She prompted him, he said it, mechanically. He was a machine, manners didn't come naturally to him, but neither did emotion and look where dealing with them got him. He tried to say things, to ask her something but he wasn't ready yet, he needed time, of which he had precious little, to realize just how big a part she could play in the end. His end.

_**I'm so tired of being worried about Ray**_

She changed the subject dejectedly. "It's OK." She said, walking away from the man she loved and shaking her head to herself as he stared after her incredulously. "I know you don't."

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><p><strong>Tell me what you think! I'm going in order of the songs, next chapter - Worst Case Scenario ~K<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Worst Case Scenario**

Mycroft smiled pleasantly at the Detective Inspector. Lestrade wriggled in his seat and coughed into his hand uncomfortably. Why did both the Holmes brothers have the same 'I can see into your very soul' look?

"Mr Holmes,"

"Mycroft, please, we're all friends here."

"I'd prefer to keep this strictly professional Mr Holmes, if you don't mind." Lestrade answered, clenching his hands together. Mycroft merely nodded at the attractive silver haired man before him.

_**You got out of the wrong side of bed and liked it**_

_**The only love you get is unrequited**_

"If you insist, Detective Inspector" Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow. "Well? I assume you've come to berate me tediously on the comings and goings of my little brother. Don't bother, John's already pointed out that we have an unhealthily dysfunctional relationship, quite correctly I'm afraid." Lestrade opened his mouth and shut it again dejectedly, his shoulders slumped.

"Pretty much" He muttered. "Look, I know that you and Sherlock don't get on, and I accept that, but could you just..._help_ him?"

"I do help him" Mycroft snapped irritably, his calm facade slipping ever so slightly.

_**Mourning Monday all week long's not healthy**_

_**But being happy's only for the wealthy **_

"I don't mean secreting cameras in his flat or kidnapping his friend and grilling him for information, I mean _really _help. Just actually acting like you care would make a difference. It might make Sherlock listen to some of us for once if he knew he had more people supporting him.

This time Mycroft was the one to be left speechless as Lestrade continued. "Please, just put some of that childhood crap aside and try to be a brother to him. I know what it's like, being the older sibling; I hated my sister for so long when she was born. She was cleverer, better looking, everyone loved her. But you know it only takes one bad thing to happen to them to make you realize how much they mean to you."

Mycroft leaned forwards in his seat and frowned. "She was hit by a car while playing in the street. It was my fault, I was meant to be looking after her." Lestrade shrugged. "Since then, I don't know, I've always been so protective of her."

"So you assume that because I wasn't responsible for my brother's downfall all those years ago that I don't care?" Mycroft breathed incredulously.

_**You can't see past the worst case scenario**_

_**You'd be happier instead if you'd stayed in bed**_

"You were there Mycroft, in the dark days. You saw everything your brother becomes when the depression becomes too much. He nearly died that night; the cocaine could have destroyed him and then what would you have done? He needs your support, he needs his family. For God's sake, just get over yourself and forget all those old promises for now. Moriarty is free and he will find Sherlock and he _will _kill him if you don't actually do something!" Lestrade raised his voice.

_**I pray one day I'll live to see you break a smile**_

The elder Holmes sat back in his chair slowly, his lips pulled tightly against his teeth in a sneer.

_**Wallow in your miserable mess as you tend to**_

_**You mastered looking unimpressed did I offend you?**_

"Mycroft?" Mycroft said "I thought I was 'Mr Holmes'" he said, arching an eyebrow.

Lestrade shook his head. "There's no point with formalities anymore. We both know that Sherlock's in danger, John's keeping an eye on him at the flat but there's no telling what Moriarty will do. Doctor Watson is the only person Moriarty will use against Sherlock, and you're the only man with the means to offer proper protection for them both. We both helped Sherlock through the hard times, and whether he likes it or not he needs us again now. He needs you Mycroft."

Mycroft stood and paced towards the window, "I couldn't expect you to understand. Sherlock would never allow it. Honestly, my brother had a tantrum when I simply attempted to keep track of his credit cards, let alone his personal life." Mycroft murmured, staring out wistfully onto the bustling street below. Lestrade stood resignedly, closing his eyes. It looked like it was down to them.

_**You can't see past the worst case scenario**_

_**You'd be happier instead if you'd stayed in bed**_

_**I pray one day I'll live to see you break a smile**_

The detective crossed the room and stood next to the imposing man. "I guess we'll have to do the best we can without your help then, Mycroft." He growled bitterly. Mycroft turned to him and smiled sadly. He placed a hand on Greg's shoulder.

"Yes" He replied.

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><p><strong>Tell me what you think! May turn into romance in the end. I just can't resist my favorite pairing, don't hate me if it does become SherlockJohn. Next chapter - Run Rabbit Run **


	3. Chapter 3

**Run Rabbit Run**

Molly Hooper stared into the blank unseeing eyes of the corpse laid upon her table. The retinas had clouded over, and she felt compelled to close the pale eyelids out of respect and general squeamishness.

She turned away from the cold body of the dead woman, taking a breath and preparing for the sight of the decomposing blue tinged leg which had been partially severed from the cadaver.

Her thoughts strayed to today's paper lying on the sideboard, where her ex-boyfriend's face leered up at her from the front page. His lips were pulled tight over his sharp white teeth in his trademark grimace, which she had once believed to be a warm smile born from absolute adoration.

_**I saw a fox by the rabbit hole**_

_**You saw a prince from a fairytale **_

Now his true character broke through that stiff mask, exposed for everyone to see in the pixelated achromatic images splashed across the news. She felt betrayed, humiliated, like the whole sick lie of those few weeks was laid before the world to laugh at and goad her for.

_**He promised that he'd watch over you**_

_**Turned out to be the fox we all knew**_

She remembered how much she didn't want to believe it when Sherlock had revealed Jim, no, Moriarty's sexuality to her. How much it had hurt to watch that tiny, fragile piece of hope being torn from her.

_**Too good to be true**_

_**What chance did you stand?**_

Molly had hated him in that moment. There were lots of times when the burning love for the man she let walk all over her because such a fierce distaste. Of course, it was easy to hate his arrogant, swaggering gait and his pleasant smile, as fake as the one belonging to his criminal counterpart. Sherlock just told the truth, but then, that's why everyone hated him after all, because sometimes the truth is something no one wants to hear.

_**Take flight, turn tale, get out while you can**_

Molly remembered that last date when she had ended it with Moriarty. The fake character Jim had watched her through that whole horrid speech she had made and rehearsed needlessly beforehand. When she had fallen silent he hadn't said a word, just sort of, stared at her with a distant look on his face. No regret, no pity, nothing. Sherlock was right, that man wasn't human at all. But then, if showing no emotion made you inhuman, then what did that make Sherlock?

_**Run rabbit run, as fast as you can**_

_**Don't look back**_

Molly watched Sherlock stride into the room, his coat billowing behind him. John wasn't with him for once, dragging the weight of the detective's ego behind him in a bag kicking and screaming. Sherlock stopped dead in the centre of the room and his gaze skirted around the tables before coming to rest hesitantly on her upturned face. "Molly" he said with a curt nod. Molly felt the feverish grin spreading over her face, classic reaction when he said her name. 'Stop it, you are making a fool of yourself, stop it now' her brain scolded.

_**He'll dance to your beat and steal your heart**_

"I-I need to ask you something." He said hesitantly, which surprised her. Sherlock never hesitated, never doubted himself but now he was looking at her uncertainly. "Before I...go, before I leave him, I need to know what it feels like to be with another person." He said quietly, breaking her gaze.

"You mean..."

"You know what I mean." Sherlock murmured, raising his head. He must have seen the hope in her eyes because he suddenly raised his eyebrows in realization. "No no, no that's not what I meant, I mean, yes that is what I meant, but I didn't mean you." Molly felt her heart shatter and the splinters embed themselves into her chest painfully.

_**Smile with those teeth and tear you apart**_

"Then who is it Sherlock? Tell me." She said flatly.

The detective sighed, closing his eyes and squeezing his hands into fists. "It's John."

Molly nodded. "I think I always knew that." She whispered.

_**Hounds on your heels, you don't stop for breath**_

_**You'll wear yourself out, 'till there's nothing left**_

"I just want to be close to him, just once, before I have to leave, before the end. Just one kiss... and I'll be able to bear it." Molly said nothing, wondering what it must feel like to have such a connection with someone like they did. They were friends, soul mates, partners, in every sense of the word.

"This was a stupid idea, I didn't mean for it to come across like that." Sherlock sighed. "I'll show myself out." He muttered, starting towards the door and shaking his head.

_**Run rabbit run, as fast as you can**_

_**Don't look back**_

Molly ran towards him and grabbed a fistful of his coat, yanking the man back into the room and slamming the door. "I said I'd do anything for you, and I meant it." She said firmly, gazing into the puzzled silver eyes which searched her face with such intrusive honesty. She closed the gap between them and joined them together in a fierce and desperate kiss.

_**Don't look back...**_

Sherlock was too shocked to move for a long time as Molly kissed him fervently, moving him back so his hips collided with the examination table she had been cleaning. The detective snapped out of his dream world and began to kiss her back, imagining the soft cropped sandy hair in place of the long mousy blonde strands which tangled in his fingers as he cupped her cheek and wove his fingers against her scalp.

_**Don't look back...**_

Was this what it would be like, kissing John? Sherlock wondered as he moved his lips experimentally against those of the girl before him, stroking his thumb gently over her cheek. He pressed himself against her, feeling her soft warm body mould effortlessly with his own. If he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine his flatmate taking her place, Molly's small breasts being replaced by John's scarred, jumper clad chest so close to him. The smoothness of her lips becoming the rough chapped lips of his friend.

_**Don't look back...**_

The kiss was tender and passionate, but remained just that, no tongues, no touching, just one friend helping another. And yet, Molly pulled away, looking down and blushing furiously. Sherlock gasped as the world was brought back into sharp focus. "I'm sorry, I should never have...I'm sorry." He breathed, slowing his heart rate and staring in horror at his hands which were placed aggressively on either side of Molly's petite body, pinning her to the table. She slipped from his arms and stood uncertainly, smoothing her lab coat and frowning, her thin eyebrows draw together in confusion. He didn't look at her, remaining in the same position for some time before she spoke.

"John will be lucky to have you." She said quietly, averting her gaze when he looked sadly at her. So much sadness resided within that brilliant man, so much pain.

"But he won't have me." Sherlock growled primitively. "I have to die, and the name 'Sherlock Holmes' has to die with me."

_**Run rabbit run, as fast as you can**_

_**Don't look back**_

Molly laid a tentative hand on his arm. "It's alright" She whispered "he loves you, and he'll always believe in you. You'll never be dead to him Sherlock; in his eyes you are flawless. I know what it's like, to see someone in such a way that they can never let you down no matter what they say or do, because I've been living it every day for the past four years."

Sherlock met her eyes and she could see the regret he felt for toying with her, putting her through all that anguish and heartbreak. He was sorry. He did care.

"I really am sorry" He whispered.

"I know" She replied.

"Will you look after him for me? When I'm...when I'm gone." Sherlock said, his voice shaking with emotion.

"I'll never let him lose his faith in you; I'll make sure he always believes in the great Sherlock Holmes." She gave a wobbly smile as she held back the tears. "Even if he was a bit of a dick" Sherlock laughed while his very soul wanted to cry, and she joined him, knowing that this was probably the last time she was ever going to see him this happy before the time came to say goodbye for good.

"Now you have to go to him, go and find John and tell him everything before it's too late."She said, wiping the stray tear that had spilled over her cheek.

She knew that Sherlock would never need her in that way, but for the first time in what felt like forever, Molly realized that she could move on. It didn't matter that she wouldn't get to be the person he loved, so long as he was finally happy, and he had someone who could love him with as much heart as she had done.

_**Run rabbit run, as fast as you can **_

_**Don't look back**_

As she walked away with tears springing to her eyes she heard his deep, broken voice utter something from behind her.

"Thank you" He murmured "...thank you."

_**Don't look back.**_

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><p><strong><em><em>Hope you enjoyed that one, took me ages to write, sorry! And yes, guess this one will be romance after all. Next chapter - Goodbye Mr A **


	4. Chapter 4

**Goodbye Mr A**

"John?" Sherlock called into the silent flat impatiently. He had run most of the way back to Baker Street, the cab ride becoming unbearably long and dragging out the minutes until the detective got to see the man he loved. "John?" No answer.

_**There's a hole in your logic**_

_**You who know all the answers **_

Then there were heavy footsteps on the stairs leading up to John's room, a low thud and a muffled swear word which Sherlock grinned at as his friend staggered sleepily into the room. "Shlock...thatyoou?" John slurred blearily. Sherlock didn't think he had been this happy to see anyone in his life.

"Yes, yes it's me" He breathed. John rubbed his eyes with the back of his fist and gave him a happy smile.

"Good...was wondering when you'd be back" He murmured. "Tea?" John asked, shuffling towards the kitchen.

Sherlock smiled, not believing how long he had missed this feeling he now knew was called love blossoming in his chest. "Tea would be wonderful" He replied, following his flatmate into the small kitchen. "Did I wake you?" He asked with some concern, not wanting to start this off on the wrong foot.

He was aware that he felt entirely reborn by these emotions battling inside him, invigorated and nervous and really, truly, shit scared. Seriously, Sherlock had never been so terrified in his life. But he felt like he was changing, leaving behind his old, stubborn self. The person who never let his feelings get in the way of his life and work was now evolving into this new, emotionally developed human being who could love and feel passion and heartache like any other. It was time to bid farewell to that old Sherlock and embrace his new incarnation with an open mind.

_**Goodbye Mr A **_

_**You promised you would love us but you knew too much**_

_**Goodbye Mr A**_

_**You had all the answers but no human touch**_

"Nah, I wasn't sleeping" John shrugged, trying to hide the limp, which was the residual aftermath of his nightmare, from his keen eyed friend. Sherlock pretended not to notice, and instead kept close by John and peered over his shoulder as the shorter man bustled about setting their striped mugs on the counter and flicking the kettle on. "Been at Bart's morgue tonight then?" John asked offhandedly, feigning disinterest as he leant against the sink and looked up at the tall detective who was studying him carefully.

_**If life is subtraction, your number is up**_

_**Your love is a fraction, it's not adding up **_

Sherlock nodded with a slight frown. "Yes"

"Seeing Molly?"

The detective blushed slightly and looked away, remembering the kiss and the way Molly had looked at him. "No, not really no."

_**So busy showing me where I'm wrong**_

_**You forgot to switch your feelings on **_

John nodded, trying to hide his relief from the other man. "She's got a bit of a thing for you" He pointed out.

"Yes, I had noticed."

_**So, so superior **_

_**Are you not?**_

_**You'd love a little bit but you forgot**_

"Can't imagine why" John said, watching as Sherlock braced his arms behind him on the edge of the kitchen table and took a deep breath. The detective flexed his chest forwards unconsciously with this action, his already painfully tight shirt threatening to burst its pearl buttons in all directions.

Sherlock smiled at the jibe, admiring his flatmate in his scruffy bed wear. John was wearing blue check pyjama pants and a soft grey tee shirt which was rucked deliciously at one corner, exposing a strip of lightly tanned golden skin, besmirched with one tiny rogue mole just above his hip. Sherlock was staggered by how much he longed to touch that skin and feel the warmth of John's body beneath his hand. The taller man flexed his fingers against the table and blinked a few times to clear his head.

_**Goodbye Mr A **_

_**You promised you would love us but you knew too much**_

_**Goodbye Mr A **_

_**You had all the answers but no human touch**_

"John, I...there's something I want to tell you..." Sherlock said quietly, avoiding the other man's gaze pointedly.

"Sure, what?" John replied, raising his eyebrows.

Sherlock swallowed nervously. "Lately I've been...not quite myself" He began, but the kettle interrupted with a sharp click, indicating that the water had boiled. John smiled and turned away to fill the mugs. He began to stir the teabags in the water absently.

"You were saying?" John said, inclining his head towards his flatmate.

Sherlock cleared his throat and rubbed the nape of his neck subconsciously. "It's kind of important" He hinted, hoping John would turn around and look at him.

"Oh...right" The doctor said, setting one of the mugs on the table for Sherlock and turning back to face the cupboards.

_**Goodbye Mr A...**_

"John" Sherlock murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards and reaching out...

John didn't flinch or even take a breath as Sherlock made careful contact skin to skin. The detective curled his long fingers around John's wrist gently, teasing back the sleeve of his jumper and slipping his hand under, touching the pad of his forefinger beneath the wool to stroke John's sensitive skin. Neither said a word as the detective moved closer until his back was almost pressed against the doctor's.

_**Goodbye Mr A**_

_**The world was full of wonder 'till you opened my eyes**_

"Sherlock" John whispered, leaning back into the detective slightly.

"John" Sherlock replied, dipping his head to brush his nose against the shorter man's neck. John shivered in pleasure and expectation. Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relishing the feeling of being close to John at last. So this was it, this was what being in love was like.

_**Goodbye Mr A**_

_**Wish you hadn't blown my mind and killed the surprise**_

He was usually so reserved, so hesitant to make contact with another human, but he couldn't get enough of John's wonderful heady shampoo and his natural distinctive scent which was purely _him._ He leaned in closer and held his breath as John shifted in his arms and turned to face him. There were so many questions written all over his puzzled expression. "What do you want?" John breathed, gazing into Sherlock's eyes and seeing an unfamiliar emotion dancing in his silver eyes.

There was a double meaning in the doctor's question. It was 'What do you want me to do, what do you want to happen, do you want to be with me?' Sherlock moved closer and John's blonde eyelashes fluttered as he closed his eyes and waited expectantly. "You" The detective answered, and John pushed himself forwards the last centimetre and kissed him full on the mouth. The kiss was everything Sherlock had ever dreamed it would be, slow and deliberate and wonderful. It was so perfect, and Sherlock let out a little whimper of contentment as John pulled him closer and slipped a hand around his waist. The detective lifted his arms to wrap them around John, running his hands over his sides and lower back with relish.

John frowned into the kiss, so much pent up emotion and tension was being released between them. He knew this was what he had needed, thirsted for, ever since returning from the war. Sherlock was everything he wanted from life, adrenaline, laughter, intrigue...passion. He moaned deep in his throat as Sherlock ran his tongue clumsily against his lip and nipped at the delicate skin there. John felt Sherlock chuckle and pull him closer, carding his long fingers through his soft sandy blonde hair. John came up for breath, planting soft deliberate kisses on Sherlock's lips as he pulled away.

They parted slowly, breath shared between their shaking bodies. Sherlock remained with his eyes closed in bliss, and John opened his to watch his flatmate gasping heavily, his cheek partially pressed against John's.  
>John moved forwards, rubbing his nose gently along the contours of Sherlock's neck and burying his head in the taller man's shoulder, stepping into his arms.<br>Sherlock shivered and curled his body to fit comfortably against the doctor's smaller form.  
>"I love you." Sherlock whispered, nuzzling John's ear. The doctor flinched against his chest at the blunt confession.<br>"You do?"  
>"Yes. I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner." the taller man replied, squeezing him tighter and kissing John's neck softly.<br>John separated himself from the other man and stared at Sherlock for a long time. The detective felt exposed and vulnerable, he had never expressed such emotion so openly before.  
>"I love you" he repeated pointedly.<br>John shook his head, lifting his hand and running his fingers through Sherlock's messy curls affectionately.  
>"I love you too" he said eventually, cupping the detective's jaw and bringing him in close for another tender kiss. They grinned at each other and Sherlock bucked his forehead to John's. The detective stroked a hand casually down John's chest and rested his long fingers against the doctor's belt. They both stared at his hand dumbly, neither knowing what to do. Sherlock hooked two of his fingers under the leather, but John flinched awkwardly and pulled away with a little gasp as Sherlock used the belt to tug him closer, nothing more.<p>

"Look, I'm really tired, do you mind if we just go to sleep tonight?" John mumbled wearily, his eyelids already heavy with exhaustion.  
>"Of course, what did you imagine we would be doing?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.<br>John lifted his head and blushed when he met the detective's critical gaze.  
>"Well...you know...things..." Sherlock's face brightened in realisation.<br>"Oh I see. I'm sorry; I didn't know you would want to...do _that_ just yet." He said uncertainly.  
>John reached out and took his hand, stroking his thumb over Sherlock's knuckles. "It's ok, we'll take this slow, and we can do all these things whenever you're ready." He said kindly.<br>But Sherlock knew he would never be ready. He would never get the chance to be ready, because Moriarty was right, it was coming very soon, The Fall.

_**Goodbye Mr A **_

_**You promised you would love us but you knew too much**_

_**Goodbye Mr A **_

_**You had all the answers but no human touch**_

"Right." Sherlock nodded awkwardly. John yawned like a lion and Sherlock grinned at him.  
>"I'd better get to bed then" John mumbled again, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "Do you want to come with me? To sleep, I mean, in my bed. Just sleep." Sherlock smiled and shook his head.<br>"I'll let you rest." He murmured. John frowned.  
>"I insist" he said with a raised eyebrow. "Come to bed with me." Sherlock was the one blushing now, a feint scarlet hue flushing his cheeks adorably. The detective, acknowledging that this may be his last chance to be close to his friend in a more intimate sense, inclined his head and accepted the offer happily.<p>

They climbed the stairs to the doctor's bedroom in comfortable silence. John turned at the door to his room and smiled at Sherlock, taking his hand gently and leading the detective over the threshold. Sherlock looked at him as John took hold of the hem of his jumper and pulled it over his head along with his tee shirt. He didn't quite know what to do next, so John stepped forwards and laid a hand on his heaving chest. Sherlock stiffened as the doctor fiddled with his buttons and began undoing his silk shirt. The taller man studied John's chest carefully, memorising every scar and indentation on his flesh. He reached out and placed his palm flat over the ugly bullet wound at his shoulder, as though protecting it and preserving the pale knotted flesh for his eyes only. John's eyelids fluttered closed with pleasure as Sherlock's fingers kneaded his flesh gently.

The detective hummed appreciatively as John pushed his shirt off his shoulders and pressed against him. They shed the rest of their clothes and slipped beneath the covers. John had to overcome his initial shock of seeing Sherlock in his boxers. All that pale skin. Sherlock caught him looking and smiled consciously, fiddling with the waistband of his boxers. Once beneath the duvet Sherlock lay self-consciously on his back, shivering a little in his almost naked state. John did the same, neither spoke for a while.

The doctor plucked up the courage to inch his hand across the cool mattress, and Sherlock flinched as John sought out his pale hand beneath the sheets and entwined their fingers tightly. The detective smiled to himself, and rolled onto his side to curl against John. He pulled the doctor's stocky form against his chest and wound his arms around him, planting gentle kisses on his warm skin everywhere his lips could reach. John let out a long sigh as Sherlock pulled them together and cuddled into him. This was the last thing he had expected. Sherlock Holmes was many things, but John had never had the man down as a person who liked to snuggle. Never the less, here they were. John took the other man's arm and draped it over his hip comfortably, covering Sherlock's hand with his own. He yawned mightily, and soon John Watson had fallen into a deep and blissful sleep in the arms of the World's Only Consulting Detective.

Sherlock lay awake with John pressed up against him, snoring lightly and making the most heart warming little snuffling noises in his sleep. He wasn't concentrating on them though, not really. He so wanted this night to be all about John, all about the last moments of intimacy they would have, but the ever present thought of his imminent 'demise' overbore every single action and movement he made towards John. He didn't want sex, not with John, not with anyone. He couldn't do this so fast. It had to be right, perfect. John wasn't just anyone, John was _the _one. Sherlock was determined not to rush this. One day, maybe, after all this was over, he could come back. He knew John would be waiting for him, and that would be enough. Then they could be together.

The detective finally fell asleep holding John tightly in his arms. The sweet joy of finally being here, in John's bed, knowing the good doctor loved him, was tinged with the bitter sadness of having to say goodbye so soon. The old Sherlock Holmes was gone, and the new Sherlock took his place, the Sherlock who was utterly in love and lying with his soul mate. But he knew that very soon, that Sherlock would have to die too.

_**Goodbye Mr A.**_

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><p><strong>Thank's for reading! Sorry this took so long, I suck at writing quickly. Next Chapter - A Sadness Runs Through Him ~K <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**A Sadness Runs Through Him**

Sherlock woke late at night to the terrible guttural screaming of his flatmate who was thrashing desperately around upstairs. The detective threw off his covers with abandon and smacked carelessly into the doorframe in his attempt to get to his friend. He shrugged off the numbing pain which stabbed through his shoulder and darted out into the hall.

"JOHN!" Sherlock yelled as his feet pounded against the floorboards, sprinting up the stairs to comfort the doctor.

"Sherlock...Sherlock...Sherlock please...help me...I...love you" John murmured nonsensically from his bed as the detective burst in through his bedroom door. The smaller man lay prostrate on the bed, kicking the sheets from his burning skin and calling out to his partner helplessly. "SHERLOCK PLEASE!" He screamed again, gut wrenchingly real and reminiscent of his torturous past.

"John, John, my John, it's alright, I'm here, everything is going to be alright. It's not happening, it's not real John, come back to me, please come back." Sherlock whispered with distress as he fell upon the bed, tugging the doctor from his stupor and laying his head in his lap. Sherlock stroked his hair and softly kissed John's forehead, wrapping his arms around the other man and keeping him safe in his arms until the good doctor woke with a start, sweat glistening on his brow.

"Sherlock" He croaked, his throat raw from screaming.

"I'm here" The detective replied, cradling John and kissing him again. "I'm here"

"Oh God, Sherlock...you were dying...there was nothing I could do..._so much blood..._"John sobbed, twisting in the other man's caring embrace and burying his tear stained face in Sherlock's chest.

_**People are puppets held together with string**_

_**There's a beautiful sadness that runs through him**_

_**As he asks me to pray to the God he doesn't believe in.**_

"Shhh..." The dark haired man whispered, pulling John against him and leaning back so his head rested against the pillows. John let out a shaky puff of breath and relaxed into Sherlock, breathing his scent and losing himself in the other man's soft pale skin...

"Sherlock"

"Yes" The detective replied, nosing John's ear and pressing a gentle kiss to his hairline, closing his eyes and rubbing slow circles on the doctor's lower back.

John sat up suddenly, staring long and hard at the detective before speaking. He brushed the salty tear tracks from his cheeks with the back of his hand.

_**Time and again boys race to be men**_

_**Impatient they start**_

_**Fearful they end**_

"Do you by any chance sleep naked?" He murmured, his gaze still trained on one particular part of the man stretched before him on the bed. Sherlock made a small choking sound and stuttered a bit, turning abruptly away from the doctor and feeling blindly around at the foot of the bed for the sheet. He tugged it up and covered himself with embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, I'll go, I didn't mean to- didn't want you to see me like this yet, I'm sorry." Sherlock rushed, trying to get out of the bed.

"No, stay" John said in a tone which implied that there was not much choice in the matter. He reached out and took Sherlock's hand, tugging until the other man fell back against the pillows. John edged up to the detective and curled his body against him possessively.

"John, I really don't think I should-"

"Please, I need you" John whispered, spreading a hand over Sherlock's bare chest, watching as the detective slowly reached across and laced their fingers together. Sherlock huffed but said nothing, gazing intently at the older man falling into a peaceful sleep beside him. "Don't ever leave me Sherlock, promise" The doctor mumbled, needing the reassurance more than anything in his shaken state.

The detective stiffened, turning the words over in his mind, unaware that he was meant to answer. The time was drawing near when he would have to give up the love of the man who meant everything to him, a final leap of faith. He couldn't do it. It was going to tear them apart.

"I promise" He said hoarsely. It was so hard to lie that his voice broke pitifully as he rasped the words which could never be true.

_**But here was a man, mourning tomorrow**_

_**He drank, but finally drowned in his sorrow.**_

John closed his eyes. "Thank you" He replied, nestling into the detective. Sherlock draped an arm around John's shoulders and pulled the cover up over them. If John had been fully awake, he might have felt the sudden wet splash of the single fat tear which had rolled down his partner's cheek and onto his own. But as it was, the doctor never knew that he made Sherlock Holmes shed his first real tear in many years, and he rested safe without the burden of this knowledge as the detective nursed his breaking heart.

_**He could not break surface tension**_

_**He looked in the wrong place for redemption**_

John woke early to find himself pinned to the bed by an unknown force. He opened his eyes blearily and took in his situation, noting with some alarm the bulk of the consulting detective thrown over his left side. Apparently Sherlock Holmes was quite the one for cuddles. The taller man murmured something incoherent in his sleep and rolled a little further on top of John, burying his face in the doctor's neck. John smiled privately to himself and let Sherlock hug him. The detective had thrown his left leg over John's right one, and his arms wrapped suffocatingly around the other man's torso. It was quite reassuring, like being a baby swaddled in a comforter.

John was struck by the sudden realization that Sherlock was still naked; he blushed, ashamed to be this close to the man without having done anything that intimate with him yet. Sherlock wriggled uncomfortably and John pressed his lips against his forehead soothingly. The detective's eyes opened and he frowned as John smiled at him. Suddenly there was a flurry of limbs and Sherlock was off him, tugging the sheet round his waist and rubbing a hand through his messy hair. John chuckled softly to himself as the detective blushed in embarrassment at being caught off guard. "Right" Sherlock murmured, standing and making to leave the room. John let him take the sheet to preserve his dignity, or what was left of it.

_**Don't look at me with those eyes**_

_**I tried to anesthetise**_

_**Turn back the tide that drew him.**_

_**He couldn't be saved**_

_**A sadness runs through him**_

"If it's any consolation, that was one of the best night's sleep I've ever had..." John said quickly as the detective turned back to look at him. Sherlock nodded and smiled briefly, taking his leave.

As soon as Sherlock left John's bedroom he let out a long sigh. Truth be told, he could have easily stayed in that bed with John all day.

_**He couldn't be saved**_

_**A sadness runs through him...**_

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><p><strong><em><em>Next chapter - Clinging on for Life (this chapter will be full of angst just so you know, this is the fall.) ~K**


	6. Chapter 6

**Clinging on for Life**

The wind was bitterly cold and rejuvenating, whipping his upturned face and running playful fingers through his hair and clothes. Sherlock allowed himself a small smile, letting his mind go blank for the merest of moments while he prepared. It was refreshing, to not have all those bothersome thoughts flitting about and jostling for space in his head. He breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock had waited for so long for this quiet release from his own body, to finally be able to let go and leave behind this broken man, and this broken life he had managed to screw up rather spectacularly.

John would be here soon, Sherlock reassured himself, knowing that what was to come in the last moments of his old life would be the hardest and most painful he would ever experience.

He wanted this time alone now, a final goodbye to Sherlock Holmes. He knew he would have to leave it behind, the name, along with almost everything else he had acquired in this life. He didn't need it; after all, it was just a name. A good name, his good name, soiled and ground into the dirt by malicious rumours and lies. He didn't care. The fact that he would now die a fraud, a fake, never mattered.

Sherlock felt the smooth surface of the phone heavy in his palm. John would find it, just like he meant him to. On it was the message he had been writing under John's name, telling him everything, how much the detective loved him, would miss him, and how Sherlock wished there could be another way. Textbook suicide note, he knew, he had researched it. It was vital that John find it when he was gone. He worried for a moment that his partner wouldn't pick up on the painfully obvious clue he was leaving in that last phone call, but John was smart, he would know...maybe.

A black cab pulled up on the curb across the street. Sherlock felt his heart flutter uncharacteristically in his chest. Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock Holmes did have a heart, but Moriarty had been wrong in believing that it was fragile, weak, an instrument to be toyed with. Sherlock had as much control over his heart as any other part of his anatomy, but now it didn't belong to him. He knew he had given his heart to John a long time ago, and the frantic way the organ was throwing itself against the cage of his ribs, almost in an effort to get to the man, was just proof of this fact.

His friend stepped out of the cab and searched wildly for the detective who was watching him from the roof. Sherlock dialled the number with shaking hands, lifting it to his ear and taking a deep breath...

_**I need you to reach me, **_

_**Teach me how to love**_

_**I need you to reach me, **_

_**Teach me how to learn**_

"No, stay exactly where you are!" He said firmly, feeling his stomach performing somersaults, he was sick with dread. John faltered uncertainly, retracing his steps to the marked position. Fractional relief washed through Sherlock, John was in place, everything would have to be executed with the upmost precision to ensure his death looked genuine. It was already becoming all too real to him.

The detective let the phone slip through his fingers, hearing it clatter to the ground behind him. He stepped out onto the ledge, spreading his arms wide and closing his eyes.

_**I must have got it wrong**_

_**If I had love then it's gone**_

_**I've been living without it for oh so long**_

_**That's the way it goes I suppose**_

Sherlock Holmes felt so alive, more so now than he had ever done before, more so even, as he was nearing the end. He let his head fall back as he rocked gently forwards, a branch swaying freely in the breeze. John was his everything, and he was leaving everything behind. Sherlock fought back the suffocating choke of both a giddy, insane laughter and the easy wash of tears over his cheeks, and took his final step into oblivion.

_**Made enough mistakes **_

_**Between the two of us to sing this thing **_

_**We're still clinging on for life**_

* * *

><p>John Watson pushed open the heavy iron door and walked out onto the roof. The faintest whisper of a breeze ghosted its chilly breath over his cheeks and ruffled his greying hair playfully. The tired doctor staggered forwards, pulled by an invisible memory, dragging him to the very spot which he had vowed never to return to. This was where he had stood, where Sherlock faced his greatest enemy utterly alone.<p>

_**I need you to reach me,**_

_**Teach me how to love**_

_**I need you to reach me, **_

_**Teach me how to learn**_

Not even thinking about what he was doing, John stepped out onto the ledge and spread his arms as wide as they would go, flexing his fingers and stretching his stiff shoulder, trying to fill the aching chasm of pain which ripped through him as he adopted the same position he knew the love of his life had taken before he fell.

_**I must have got it wrong**_

_**If I had love then it's gone**_

_**I've been living without it for oh so long**_

John felt his eyes pulled down over that sickening drop, and imagined he could see that horrific crimson stain spreading over the concrete beneath him. It was always there in his nightmares, haunting him, the last memory he had of his best friend was the one smeared with his blood, and the cold, dead stare of those piercing blue eyes which left him with no doubt that it could be anyone but _Him. _

That was the worst part, knowing that there wasn't an explanation, that there wasn't a loophole, not this time. Real life wasn't like the movies, and when you lose someone you love, in reality it really is the end, and John had to face the fact that Sherlock wasn't coming back. He was alone.

He could end it all, right here, in the same way. One little baby step and it would all be over. They could be together again, and everything would be OK, he could finally have Sherlock and they would stay together forever, just as it was meant to be, Holmes and Watson, Watson and Holmes, two halves of a single and incomparable whole.

The doctor sagged in defeat. He could never do it. He didn't have the guts; he was a coward for not being able to follow Sherlock over that edge. But was it a lack of courage, or was it bravery for continuing on even when his own heart was a hollow gaping wound in his chest? Even he didn't know anymore.

Sherlock would never forgive him if he took that step.

John's legs buckled and he toppled backwards to safety as though pushed by an unknown force. The small man crumpled on the floor and curled into a ball, his shoulders shaking with grief. He couldn't cry, all those tears had been shed long before, and now John merely squeezed his eyes shut and gave in to the all consuming choke of inexpressible emotion.

When he opened his eyes again he was at home with no recollection of how he had come to be there, standing in the living room of their flat and staring at the empty armchair with a sick feeling coiling in his gut. The doctor dropped to his knees, his stomach heaving as he dry-retched over the threadbare carpet.

John screamed until his throat was raw, stuffing his fist into his mouth to muffle the cries of pain. He was angry, so, _so _angry. How could he do this, how could Sherlock leave him? He had asked himself this question too many times over the past few weeks, but the answer still remained the same, echoed by the empty silence of a dead flat and the sweet, comforting embrace of alcohol.

_**But that's the way it goes**_

_**When your head can but suppose**_

_**And instead of answers**_

_**It's full of 'I don't know's**_

John clawed at the floor and dragged himself into standing, limping slowly to the kitchen to get a drink.

Sherlock's chemistry equipment was still there, the delicate glass bottles of colourful liquid and the rows of neat test tubes arranged side by side just as _he_ had left them. The broken man trailed a finger thoughtfully along the edge of the table, ignoring the dust. John hadn't touched a thing. Besides, if he did, Sherlock would get annoyed, he always got annoyed when John touched his experiments, and so they remained where they were. John didn't want Sherlock shouting at him again.

As the doctor chucked back the vodka he settled back in his chair, reserving the worn leather seat for his friend as he always did. He swirled the colourless liquid in the glass, taking another gulp and smiling faintly. He was remembering the time he and Sherlock had that Doctor Who marathon on a rainy Thursday afternoon. Sherlock didn't have a case and the weather was rotten, so the detective had actually sat through it all, which was surprising. They had watched eleven episodes back to back, cuddling on the sofa and eating popcorn. It was a simple memory, but it was one of his favourites.

_**That's the way it goes I suppose**_

John looked out of the window at the gathering darkness and waited. There were still five more episodes to get through and he wasn't going to watch them alone. They would settle down and watch them together when Sherlock got home...

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><p><strong>Yes, this took ages to update, yes, I'm sorry. Not that this story is that great anyway. I'd be grateful if anyone takes the time to review! Thanks x <strong>

**Next chapter: Cops and Robbers**


	7. Chapter 7

**Cops and Robbers**

Sherlock grinned impishly and drop-kicked the man in his expansive gut. The man made a sound like a seagull with a chest cold and fell goggle-eyed to the ground with a satisfying thud.

Sherlock walked away.

_**If we catch a criminal**_

_**When we catch a criminal**_

_**There's nothing we can do but play cops and robbers**_

_**Cops and robbers**_

The Detective turned out of the narrow alley, his new phone held conspiratorially against his ear while he fired of his location in rapid Mandarin. He hailed a cab at the main road and returned to the dingy flea pit of a flat he was renting and currently called home. As Sherlock lay down on the sagging mattress with the suspiciously stained sheets, he allowed himself a rare moment to remember his old home, his true home. But when his thoughts turned to a certain Army Doctor his train of thought was cut abruptly short and derailed with an impressive screech of brakes and much screaming and shouts of abuse.

He sighed dejectedly and rolled over to lie on his stomach, muffling his groan with a yellowed pillow.

_**We're at a revolution and we're baying for your blood**_

_**We're laying down the law and you're name's mud**_

Sherlock knew now that he had been a fool to believe that he could just leave everything behind. The realization was slowly dawning upon him that what he had done, his apparent act of cowardice, may have been the most stupid mistake of his life. Sherlock admitted to having made his fair share of mistakes in his time, the foremost of which was acknowledging that Mycroft was his brother. But being with John was most certainly not one of them, and leaving him...leaving him was monumentally stupid.

_**You'd like to be a member of the human race**_

_**You want to be a good boy**_

_**But you couldn't stand the taste**_

Sherlock Holmes woke in the early hours of the next morning. His head was aching and he swatted the light switch irritably. The bare bulb swung dizzyingly from a light fitting of questionable safety, casting eerie shadows on the wall which dipped and undulated with each nauseating pendulous swing of the bulb. Sherlock groaned and ran shaky fingers through his short scruff of light ginger hair. It had been a strangely liberating experience to dye his mop of inky curls and cut his hair shorter too. In a way it helped with the transition from his old life to this pathetic existence he now lived out in the back streets of Tibet, chasing down the last stragglers who had found themselves unfortunately snared in Moriarty's treacherous employ.

_**Blame Simon**_

'_**Cause he said**_

_**You've got two lives down and one life left**_

_**Blame Simon**_

'_**Cause he said **_

_**You could think better with a hole in your head**_

These criminals were infuriatingly resilient little buggers. It had taken the ex-detective almost two months to track down this latest strand of the sticky web Moriarty had woven before his demise, extracting the helpless agents of death and crushing them into the dust like the worthless insects they were, putting them out of their misery.

He had one left, one man, one spider to track down and squash. Sherlock smiled secretly to himself and sauntered out into the thriving current of people which streamed through the city, a throbbing, pulsating mass of noise and life, polluted with poisonous opinions and wrought with bad ideas.

_**If we catch a criminal**_

_**When we catch a criminal**_

_**There's nothing we can do**_

_**But play cops and robbers**_

_**Cops and robbers**_

Caught in the relentless surge, Sherlock allowed the crowd to pull him along, swayed by their countless deviations down shady alleyways and more alluring paths. He passed a woman shrouded in shadow, her body thrown forwards in a manner which may have been considered desirable. She flashed him an indulgent smile and beckoned to him. Sherlock broke off from the crowd and followed the woman at an inconspicuous distance as she turned away and sashayed down the alley. Once at a crossroads in the backstreets, the woman leant against a wall and looked away from Sherlock as she casually palmed him the address of the Colonel scrawled on a slip of yellowed paper. At last, he possessed the last scrap of information vital to tracking down Moriarty's right hand man.

He pocketed the address and made his way back through the alleys towards the main road. There was little opportunity to establish a network of informants here in the metropolis, but for every enemy Sherlock Holmes had gained over the years, he had made two friends, or rather, acquaintances grateful enough to repay a debt.

Sherlock took out the paper and glanced at it again.

_14 Conduit Street_

There was nothing more on the paper, and he smiled to himself. It was all he needed.

_**You say you fight for us**_

_**Cross your heart and hope to die**_

The man was kneeling on the dusty floor, his eyes trained on some invisible target. Sherlock waited patiently in the shadows to deliver his death. The old detective watched as the man balanced the rifle carefully, taking aim. The man let out a long, shuddering breath and remained motionless for a moment, then his finger tightened on the trigger and Sherlock pounced on him. The man cried out and tried to bludgeon Sherlock with the barrel of his gun, landing heavy blows in his attacker's chest. Sherlock punched him on the jaw and the man fell back, blood spilling from between his parted lips. He spat a mouthful of violent red onto the floor and scrambled back, aiming the gun at Sherlock as the taller man struggled into standing, winded. The bullet struck him in his shoulder and sent Sherlock stumbling with a cry of pain. The man tried to take another shot but the gun jammed, and Sherlock retrieved his own weapon from the floor, his left arm held painfully against his body. The man watched him with fear dancing in his eyes as Sherlock walked slowly towards him.

_**You could think better with a hole in your head...**_

"Colonel Sebastian Moran," he said, his voice strained but no less threatening. Sherlock raised the gun and Moran pressed himself against the wall helplessly. Sherlock smiled dreadfully, "a marksman to the last."

_**If we catch a criminal there's nothing you or I can do**_

_**Line them up against a wall I'll get a gun and shoot them all.**_

If anyone heard the shot, they did nothing to prevent him escaping. The sun was beginning to rise over the city, and in a squalid room above a marketplace, a thousand miles away from civilized London, Sherlock Holmes turned and silently walked away, leaving behind him the body of the late Colonel Sebastian Moran, with a bullet set between his eyes.

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you for reading! Next chapter: 'Everything Goes Dark' **


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